


F in Communication

by athena_crikey



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff, Internalized Homophobia, Love Letters, M/M, Morons in love, everyone is oblivious, obvious clues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:21:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22123240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athena_crikey/pseuds/athena_crikey
Summary: Haven’t you ever wanted to share a secret so badly you feel like your chest will split? I want to share my secret with you.Or: Kageyama starts getting cryptic letters. Maybe there's a confession in them, but really, what idiot doesn't leave their name on their love letter?
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio
Comments: 4
Kudos: 242





	F in Communication

The teacher is droning on, voice punctuated by chalk strokes on the board. Modern Japanese. Kageyama’s worst subject. The subject he cannot, _cannot_ flunk. The subject he’s already had to write two make-up exams for, after failing miserably to achieve a passing grade – one of which delayed his entrance into the Tokyo practice games. A repeat is unacceptable. 

He sits as straight as he’s able, peering determinedly at the board that’s full of gibberish. His kanji’s getting better with the effort he’s putting into memorization, but he’s still far behind, and Sensei’s handwriting looks like chicken-scratch. 

What makes it all the worse is that he’s sure, positive, that two rows behind him Hinata is sleeping right now. Karasuno’s genius decoy – the second Tiny Giant – is actually _ahead_ of Kageyama. When it comes to Modern Japanese, only. 

“The spoken word is often confusing, imprecise,” says their teacher, turning to stare at the sea of dead-eyed students. “It is only through writing that one can be truly exact, can convey the purity of thoughts and feelings which is often needed. There are examples through the ages of great lords, and great lovers, who consigned their most crucial messages to writing rather than risk miscommunication. For example Lord Ieyasu…”

Kageyama tunes out. This isn’t testable content, it’s just their teacher’s boring ramblings on a topic that interests only him. He cranes his head back towards the ceiling. His neck is a bit sore after practice yesterday; he needs to be more careful warming up, but it’s hard with that dumbass Hinata practically vibrating beside him, anxious to be on the court. He looks back to Hinata who is, shockingly, taking notes. 

Kageyama rolls his eyes and turns back to their teacher. Sensei wraps up his monologue and returns to the board. “Now, the meaning behind this phrase may surprise you, but…” 

More notes are scratched onto the board. Kageyama picks up his pencil and starts writing.

  
***

Practice goes long, as always. Kageyama makes sure this time to warm up and cool down properly, snapping at Hinata when the smaller boy tries to pressure him to come and do tosses. It’s not that he doesn’t want to. He would spend every minute of every day doing it if he could. But taking care of yourself is important too.

Afterwards they put away the equipment, clean the gym, then return to the club room to change. Then it’s off to the front hall to change their shoes and go home.

In Kageyama’s shoe locker is a letter. Just a piece of paper folded in half, no envelope, no name. He stares at it, hand hovering just outside the locker. 

This isn’t the first time he’s received a love note. He’s tall and dark and a regular on the volleyball club. He knows girls find that attractive. Somehow it seems like the less they know him, the more they like him. 

He considers opening the letter but Tanaka and Nishinoya are fooling around behind him – if they find out he has a love letter, they’ll make fun of him the whole way home. He stuffs the letter into his bag and changes his shoes. 

Hinata’s hovering nearby when he’s done, for once not rough-housing with the club’s two tough-guys. “Get your bike already, then,” says Kageyama, and swings his bag over his back. They walk out together, like always. He needs to keep an eye on Hinata, after all, or who knows what trouble the dumbass might get into?

  
***

He doesn’t open the letter until he’s safe on the bus, away from prying eyes.

 _You like volleyball. So do I_ , says the note, in careful, measured strokes. There’s no signature, no name. 

What the hell kind of note is this? There’s nothing about his appearance, or her feelings. No requests or promises. It seems… meaningless. Why put it in his locker – this is something anyone could have told him.

He wonders if it’s one of the girls on the girls’ team. He never paid much attention to them – they practice in a separate gym. And frankly, they don’t work hard enough. He’s never been impressed by them. 

Mildly confused and not very interested, Kageyama stuffs the note away in his bag and closes his eyes. He can catch a short nap before his stop.

  
***

The next day dawns hot and sunny as usual. Class crawls by, the hours dragging painfully. Then it’s time for club activities. Kageyama races Hinata to the club room to chance, then to the gym to start warming up.

For some reason hours spent practicing volleyball fly by. Kageyama doesn’t understand how school can be so slow and volleyball so fast – it seems vastly unfair. 

“I want to keep going,” says Hinata at the end of practice. Kageyama nods eagerly. 

“We don’t have a game coming up – we need to make sure we build our muscles as well as practice our plays. It’s time to quit,” replies Daichi. “We’ll practice both days on the weekend,” he adds, as a kind of compensation. 

They put away the equipment, change, and leave. 

Again today, there’s a note in his locker. Kageyama puts it in his bag and walks out, waiting for Hinata to get his bike; the smaller boy hurries back, smiling widely. Kageyama knows how he feels; finishing practice always leaves him wanting more, but it leaves him feeling fulfilled as well. 

They buy popsicles at Coach’s store, eating them as they walk down the street. Then they split up; the bus comes, and Kageyama reads the note. 

_You’re a great setter. Isn’t it great to have something you love?_

No name. No confession, no request. Same handwriting as yesterday’s. 

Frowning, Kageyama folds it and pushes it back into his bag. Then he closes his eyes and drifts off.

  
***

It’s Friday, last day of classes before the weekend. Kageyama slacks off, and gets a 45 on a pop quiz in Modern Japanese. Wincing he balls it up and tosses it into his desk. He turns to see Hinata holding his own page up, fingers making a V. Kageyama can read 56 in red ink.

“Better keep studying, Kageyama-kun~” calls Hinata. Kageyama grits his teeth. Hinata’s already his rival – and also his ally, his partner – in volleyball. He doesn’t need a rival in Modern Japanese, dammit. 

They go on a long run around the neighbourhood after school, starting practice already warm. Hinata’s on fire today, hitting every serve into the opponent’s court. It fuels Kageyama’s pride, and his joy. This is what it means to be successful – to be victorious. Hinata’s grinning like crazy, and even the others are smiling, his good mood contagious. There’s something about Hinata’s feverish energy, the positivity he brings to the game. He’s never once berated anyone, never once suggested that anyone other than himself was at fault for a missed play. And he practices his guts out to be the sun to Kageyama’s shadow, the two of them the team’s best duo. 

They make plans to meet up tomorrow as the clean the gym, then it’s time to change and go home. 

Another letter. This time the others are fooling around in the courtyard. Kageyama unfolds the sheet and reads:

_It’s hard to be so full with something, and yet so incomplete. Do you know the feeling?_

What is this? Where are these notes going? Who is sending them, and why? They’re not confessions. Are they threats? He tilts his head to the side and reads the note again. It doesn’t seem like a threat. It just seems… weird. 

Kageyama sighs and puts it away in his bag. Hinata’s waiting for him at the door. “You okay, Kageyama?”

“Yeah. Fine.”

  
***

It’s Saturday, no school. Kageyama comes to the gym early, but Hinata’s already there, bouncing around waiting for one of their senpai to show up with the keys.

“Kageyamaaaa,” he whines, like an eager puppy. “Let’s play – I want to play!”

“Dumbass, wait for the gym to be unlocked.”

Privately, though, he agrees. He’s itching to be on the court, to be playing. To be setting for Hinata, to watch the smaller boy fly. Half a year ago, he would never have believed how invested he’s become in another player. How Hinata’s successes make his own heart throb. 

Eventually Tanaka shows up with the keys and they set up and warm up as the other boys trickle in. 

The bright side of practice on a Saturday, apart from the fact that there’s no school to interfere with their play, is that there won’t be any weird notes. Smiling to himself (“Hey, Kageyama’s got a weird look in his eye, watch out!” calls Tanaka from the other side of the gym), Kageyama tosses to Azumane and watches in approval as the ball slams into the ground on the other side of the net.

  
***

But, as it happens, he’s wrong. When he goes out to change his shoes, there’s a folded piece of paper there on top of his outdoor ones, just like every other day.

 _I used to think having something you loved was enough. Now I think maybe you need some_ one _to love, too._

This is starting to possibly make more sense. At least it’s talking about love, the staple of high school girls’ romance. It must be someone in another club, to have been placed here on the weekend. Unless the girl knew he would be here and came to school specially to place the note… Could someone be that interested in him?

“Oi, Kageyama, what’s up?”

It’s Nishinoya, Hinata hovering curiously behind him. Kageyama hurriedly stuffs the note into his bag and turns. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

  
***

He’s had enough of these weird anonymous notes. Kageyama decides on Sunday that he’s going to catch whoever it is. He fills up on energy drinks and starts taking repeated trips to the bathroom, stopping by the shoe locker on the way.

It’s empty all morning, and most of the afternoon. And then, an hour before end of practice, Kageyama ducks out again and there, waiting for him, is a note. There’s no one around.

“Dammit!” Foot tapping, he unfolds it and reads: _Do you feel lonely like I do? I always thought having wings would be enough. I was wrong._

Having wings? Is it a reference to the school name? To a club involving jumping? Basketball? Track-and-field? His thoughts turn again to the girls’ volleyball team. Daichi knows some of them; maybe he could ask him…

“Hey, Kageyama. What’cha doing here?” Hinata comes in, and he pushes the paper up underneath his shirt. 

“I thought I heard someone call me,” he lies, lamely. 

“Oh?” Hinata looks around. “’S all empty.”

“Yeah, dumbass, I know. Let’s get back.” He waits until Hinata turns to put the letter back in his locker; he can get rid of it later.

  
***

On Monday, Kageyama starts making trips to the locker in the day, keeping watch over it. The letter arrives sometimes after school while he’s at practice – making it all the likelier that whoever is doing it is also in a club. Moreover the letter comes towards the end of practice, when many of the less enthusiastic clubs, including girls’ volleyball, have quit for the day. Whoever is leaving these notes is dedicated to their sport.

And, maybe, to him. He really doesn’t know. He still hasn’t shown them to anyone. Still doesn’t even know what the hell they mean. 

Monday’s note: _When we’re together, I feel complete. Then you leave, and I’m empty._

Tuesday’s note: _Haven’t you ever wanted to share a secret so badly you feel like your chest will split? I want to share my secret with you._

Wednesday’s note: _I don’t know how to say the words in my heart. Do you?_

Thursday’s note: _I love you. There. I’ve said it. Why don’t I feel any better?_

On Friday, Kageyama leaves practice late to go to the bathroom, and out of habit but not real hope swings by the entryway. He sees a familiar figure walk in before him – Hinata, who had gone out to go to the toilet five minutes ago. 

Kageyama steps into the locker room, his shoe crunching on the metal door frame. When he rounds the corner, Hinata’s putting something in his own shoe locker, on the opposite wall from Kageyama’s. 

He looks up and smiles. “Oh, Kageyama. What’re you doing here?”

“It’s…” he tries to think up a convenient lie; can’t. And, on the spur of the moment, decides to come clean. “It’s these notes,” he says, scratching the back of his head. 

“Notes? Like… love notes?”

“Kind of. I guess. They’re weird.”

Hinata rises, closing his locker. “Weird how?”

Kageyama crosses to his own locker and opens the door. Sure enough, there’s a note inside. He pulls it out and opens it, holding it up for Hinata to read. _I don’t think this is working_ , it says. 

_No shit_ , thinks Kageyama. “Usually love letters from girls are all… emotional. Full of confessions and compliments and promises to love me forever if only I’ll love them back.”

Hinata’s eyebrow twitches. “You get a lot of love notes?”

“Not a lot. But a few. But these ones… it’s like whoever’s leaving them doesn’t know what the fuck they’re doing. They’re trying to send a message, I think. But it’s just…”

“Failing?” asks Hinata, quietly, from behind his shoulder. Kageyama’s turned back to the note. 

“Yeah. I know they’re in a club, and they obviously know me – or think they do. We’ve met. And they’re here as often as I am. But they’re just… totally clueless.”

“Oh,” says Hinata, his voice tiny. 

“I mean, you’d at least put your name, wouldn’t you? And be more upfront with what you want. What am I supposed to do with this?”

“Maybe they’re waiting for an answer,” says Hinata. Kageyama turns to him and sees his eyes are shadowed, his gaze cast down. His hands are fisted, his knuckles pale. 

“Dumbass. How am I supposed to respond to someone who doesn’t leave a name?”

“Maybe they thought you’d know,” says Hinata, voice rising. “Maybe they thought it would be _obvious_. Maybe they figured that since the two of you spend practically _every waking moment_ together, it would be _clear!_ ”

And then he runs out. 

Kageyama stares after him in shock. Then he looks back to the note in his hand. The writing is precise, careful – not the smooth strokes of a confident writer, but of someone making a real effort to appear practiced. Someone to whom writing doesn’t come naturally. Someone in a club like volleyball, who’s there all hours of the day and night. 

Someone who’s been waiting for him, every single day after he opened that day’s note. 

Waiting for an answer. 

Hinata. It’s been Hinata this whole time, trying to put into writing what he couldn’t put into words. And Kageyama didn’t suspect it for a minute, not even from all the clues the moron left behind. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” he says, and snaps his locker closed, note crushed tight in his fist. He runs out after Hinata. But the boy’s already gone.

He won’t have gone back to the gym, and his bike is still in the locker – one of the few left this late. Which means he can only be in the club room. Kageyama sprints across the campus, shooting up the stairs and slamming the door open. 

Hinata’s alone in the club room, already half changed into his after-practice clothes. He looks up, eyes wild, face white. Kageyama steps in and closes the door behind him. 

“You wrote the notes,” he says, taking a step forward. 

Hinata stares at him, lip caught between his teeth, hands fisted in the cotton of his shirt. It’s one Nishinoya gave him, the back printed with a 4 kanji idiom: _uncanny relationship formed by a quirk of fate._

How appropriate. 

“You’ve been leaving them for me every day. Hoping what? I’d guess it was you? I’d ask your advice?”

Hinata swallows. And then, slowly: “I just wanted to tell you. Tell you what I can’t say. I couldn’t think of any other way.”

“At least sign your name, dumbass,” shouts Kageyama, taking a step closer. Hinata flinches, and he takes a shocked breath. “How am I supposed to reply to you otherwise?” he asks, more softly. 

“Reply?”

“You didn’t think I’d want to?”

“You said it before – you’ve got girls who like you. You’re popular. You’re a star player. I’m …”

Kageyama leans in as Hinata’s eyes drop. “You’re what?”

Hinata looks back up, blazing. “I’m a guy, okay. And I’m your teammate. And I know how wrong this is. I shouldn’t have done anything. I know that. But I _couldn’t_ say nothing.”

_Haven’t you ever wanted to share a secret so badly you feel like your chest will split?_ Kageyama thinks back to Tuesday’s note. 

“You’re not wrong, you know. About us. We do spend every waking moment together – every one possible, at least. I’m not sociable, you know that. Spending time with others… I don’t mind it. But spending time with you? I feel like it’s never enough. I always want to practice more, not just because I love volleyball. But because I love playing it with you.”

“That’s not –”

“Because I love _you_ , dumbass,” snaps Kageyama. “Yeah, I’m successful, and popular, and a great player. But without you, I always feel like I’m in shadow. You’re the light.”

“Kageyama…”

“So are you going to tell me what you couldn’t say to my face?” He raises his eyebrows expectantly. 

Hinata places his hands on Kageyama’s shoulders, rocks up onto his tip-toes, and kisses him. On the lips. Right there in the clubroom. 

“I love ya, Kageyama,” he says, smiling like the sun. Kageyama’s heart is racing, thumping against his chest. He stares down at Hinata’s bright, amber eyes and sees eagerness there, and relief. He leans down and kisses him once more, just for the thrill of it. Then…

“Here.” He hands back the note: _I don’t think this is working._ “Next time you have something to say, tell me to my face. You communicate better that way. And Hinata?”

Hinata’s flushed and grinning like an idiot. “Yeah?”

“Put your gym things back on. Practice isn’t done yet.”

END

**Author's Note:**

> 合縁奇縁: uncanny relationship formed by a quirk of fate


End file.
